


Phoenix

by elisi



Series: Because Cavemen Have Fire [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of a Massacre, M/M, Post-Canon, Slash, The past is never past, Vampire Sex, Vampires are hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: Two vampires with souls crashed a ritual sacrifice.That night had been blood-soaked and glorious. (Indescribable; unforgivable - the night when the darkness won.)Second Prequel to Because Cavemen Have Fire.Setting: Around 4 months post-NFA, so approximately September. About two months before Buffy finds them.





	Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from 2007. My first purely slashy fic! Many warnings for cliché abuse and disturbing themes/actions/situations.

The lighter sparked once; twice; then a bright golden flame leapt up, catching the end of the cigarette and clinging to it as though enamoured. A slow drag, and the osmosis was complete.

As he languidly blew out the smoke, Spike felt more than heard Angel grunt at his side, and slowly turned his head. Angel with the smallest of inclinations answered the question in Spike’s raised eyebrow, and a moment later they were both smoking, silence and languor hanging around them.

When his cigarette was almost finished, Angel held it up in front of his face, studying it abstractedly.

“That was...” he frowned as words were obviously failing him; then tried again. “I’d forgotten just how...”

Spike grinned, and stubbed out his own cigarette on the cracked head of the Rishti demon that lay by his feet.

“Just how bloody fantastic a post-slaughter fuck can be?”

Angel sighed deeply and flicked the cigarette end away, watching as it landed in a small pool of blood with a hiss before the tiny glow winked out of existence. 

“Something like. But then it has been what... more than a hundred years since the last time? Although considering that it was pretty much the first thing Darla and I did...” He smiled, eyes distant. “Felt like flying.”

Spike nodded sagely. “Oh yeah, there’s nothin’ like that rush - it’s new every time. It’s what I’ve been sayin’ - livin’ in the moment is what it’s all about.” 

He tilted his head, taking in the destruction in the large, opulent room - the mangled bodies scattered on the marble floor, now wet and sticky with blood; the once priceless furniture broken and stained with red; the torn-down altar at the far end.

“Then on the other hand maybe it’s just the smell of blood...”

Angel shrugged, tried to stretch and then decided that this was obviously too much of an effort and sighed deeply. 

“The girls would have loved this. Although they‘d never have helped the virgin escape before locking everyone in...”

“Neither would we back in the day,” Spike pointed out. “A treat like that...” 

He yawned, and poked a body with his foot. 

“S’pose it’d be unethical to drink the humans, even though they were evil?”

Angel closed his eyes and leaned back on the plush velvet sofa, waiting a long moment before turning his head towards Spike.

“People who try to sacrifice their daughters deserve everything they get. But it’d probably be best if we don’t leave any evidence that this was a vampire attack... it might just have been a set-up.”

“Yeah?” Spike frowned, a little worried. “Thought you said this looked just like a standard ritual sacrifice.”

“Well it was obviously a tribute to Yeska - the big ‘Happy 50th’ and the altar were a dead give-away - but Wolfram & Hart might still have been keeping tabs. They’d figure this is exactly the sort of thing we’d go for.”

“Kinda buggered up the whole ‘keeping a low profile’, hunh?”

Angel surveyed the room and shrugged. “Well we made sure no one got away, so it’ll be a while before the alarm is raised in any case.”

“Good,” Spike replied. “Don’t think my legs work anymore.”

“The L’Kriff demon did kinda squash you...” Angel began, but Spike cut him off with a laugh. “Ah no, the legs not working is all you! Gotta hand it to you old man, when you unleash it - you’re pretty spectacular. Like... a hurricane with bad hair.”

Angel looked slightly taken aback and opened his mouth to speak, but Spike cut him off. “An’ please don’t start bleedin’ worryin’ about not being ‘artistic’ enough! Don’t have to be Rembrandt all the time, mate - Jackson Pollock was an artist too!”

He indicated the chaos surrounding them, and Angel seemed to actually consider his words for once. 

“Guess you’ve got a point. I just always thought that Jackson Pollock was too... I don’t know... messy?”

Spike waved away the complaint. “Nothin’ that a good shower won’t take care of. Heck I’d _lick_ you clean if it wasn’t that most of the blood was demon.”

Angel got a sudden wistful look on his face, and Spike chuckled as he dug out another smoke from the purse next to him. Its owner - whoever she had been - wouldn’t miss it, that was for sure. 

“Dru would’ve done it...” Angel muttered petulantly as Spike slowly took a deep drag.

“Yeah, but I ain’t your sweet crazy little girl, so tough luck.”

He turned his head, and found Angel studying him intently.

“But you’re still _mine_....” Angel said, jaw set and that look on his face that made Spike feel suddenly vertiginous. It would probably take a century before he began to get used to it. No, make that a millennium.

Still - no reason to let the big guy have his way too easily.

He shrugged, a tiny smile gracing his lips. “No denyin’ _that_ fact,” he drawled, slowly blowing out the smoke and meeting Angel’s eyes head-on. “We both know that I’m your very own gorgeous blue-eyed lover-boy, and you'd claw your way back from the depths of hell to lay by my side.”

With a quiet “Moron!” Angel shoved him onto the floor, but Spike only giggled and grabbed hold of Angel’s foot, pulling him down off the sofa - a short tussle later and Spike was straddling him. But before Spike could speak Angel reached up, plucked the cigarette from his mouth and extinguished it on the chest of the dead man beside them, his eyes never leaving Spike’s face. 

“Your _Sire_ was making a point, boy!”

Spike grinned wickedly.

“My poor _Grand_ -sire seems to be forgettin’ who’s on top. _But_ \- since you’re so very anxious to feel my sweet tongue on that great hulking body of yours...”

He swiftly snatched up a shard of glass that had only a few hours ago been part of an elegant vase, before slowly and deliberately making a long shallow cut across Angel’s chest. The other vampire hissed, and Spike watched him with dark eyes.

“You know the drill old man - no pain, no gain.” 

Tossing the glass aside, he leisurely let his tongue follow the bloody line he had cut, relishing the delicious taste and Angel’s response. 

Then he pulled away and, as he watched Angel slowly refocus, casually said: “So - time for a bit of a scrub?”

He could see the momentary anger that flickered across Angel’s features, but then it was overlaid with lassitude.

“Yeah, all right. But you’re paying for this tomorrow.”

“Countin’ on it!” Spike grinned as he got up, legs still a little unstable, and held out his hand. Angel grabbed it and slowly got to his feet. He held on for just a moment longer than necessary, adjusting to the feel of standing up.

“Maybe we _should_ eat one of them - it’s dawn in a couple of hours and we need to be out of here. Being able to walk in a straight line would be good...“ He frowned and looked Spike over, new admiration on his face. “Never thought anyone except Darla could wear me out like that.” 

Spike chuckled. “Told you I was no starry eyed fledgling anymore... Just not had the opportunity to let loose properly. All this hiding and laying low cramps my style.” He stretched, feeling bones creaking and muscles protesting, every part of him aching wonderfully. “Should crash ritual sacrifices more often...”

He let his eyes pass over the room, trying to trace their path through the chaos. That alcove must have been where they’d first become distracted... 

A large L’Kriff demon had hurled itself at Spike and, although he had stabbed it through the heart, its forward momentum had been too great, and Spike had ended up trapped underneath its bulky frame. Angel had pulled it off and hauled Spike upright, a lecture of some sort obviously on his lips as he with a frown unthinkingly reached out and wiped a streak of blood off Spike’s face. And then... 

There had been a beat, the tiniest fraction of a moment, in which Angel had realised that the blood was human. Then their eyes had met silently, no words needed as blood called to blood. The room had been full of screaming and panicking guests - some tripping over bodies, others trying to break down the doors - as well as demons fighting amongst themselves or turning on the humans. Panic and fear had saturated the air, weighing against their senses from all sides, and it had been... intoxicating. Slowly - as though against his will - Angel had brought his hand up to his mouth and licked off the blood, his eyes never leaving Spike’s face. 

Next thing Spike knew he had been crushed against the wall by Angel, being kissed deeply and hungrily... And he had tasted the blood on Angel’s tongue and heard a woman screaming in pain and felt the passion building and burning inside them both and... _fuck_ , he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so completely turned on. Somewhere in the back of his head had been the thought that they should stop this, right now, because this was not why they were here. This was _wrong_ \- and yet... delicious beyond words.

Their kiss had come to an abrupt end when a Rasham demon had hit Angel over the head with an antique chair, yelling something about vampires being filthy and perverted. 

Angel had turned with a snarl and ripped its head clean off, his eyes glowing golden and irate. He’d turned back to Spike, and a look had passed between them before they’d leapt back into the fray - they’d both known that they were going to finish what they’d started... the pull was too great. Spike was honestly not sure at which point they'd stopped killing and started frantically to undress each other; and the thin gap between fighting and making out had disappeared altogether as they got lost in the fire - fuelled at every turn by the all-pervading, exhilarating smell of blood. The sex had made the world tilt and spin and finally collapse - how they’d managed to end up on the couch he had no idea. 

Trying to piece together what had happened, Spike’s thoughts kept returning to his first night with Buffy - nothing could ever come close of course, but this certainly had been on the same scale; if vastly, hugely different. 

That night had been extraordinary... Every wall between him and her had come crashing down - love, hate, pain, hope, fear, triumph and desperate _need_ all bleeding together in a way that he still couldn’t describe. Everything bright and new, discovery upon discovery setting the night alight. 

But tonight... had been _old_. Tonight he and Angel had not just blurred the line between past and present (and it had always been pretty blurry, right from the beginning) - tonight the line had ceased to exist. Then and now had come together, and, saving the girl aside, the tableaux they’d created would have been no different if they’d been evil still, and the relish no greater. 

Catching Angel’s eyes Spike saw that his thoughts had obviously turned down the same path, and they both shifted a little uncomfortably. This was dangerous territory. 

(It had started out as a Rescue Mission, metamorphosed into an attempt at giving people their just desserts and then become… _this_.)

“Any regrets?” Spike asked cautiously. Angel was... unpredictable these days, and Spike wasn’t sure how he’d respond. He was standing, arms crossed, slowly letting his eyes take in every detail of their handiwork, face unreadable, like a statue made flesh. A bloodied statue, but one made by a master craftsman nonetheless... 

Their physical perfection was something they took for granted; wounds healing and fading into nothing as though never there. Except... the circle of The Black Thorn burned into Angel’s chest, like a dark symbol of the damage inflicted inside. Spike knew that there was a broken core somewhere deep down that he couldn’t reach. And he wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.

Then Angel shook his head. “No. No regrets.” 

He turned, a small smile on his lips and eyes soft. “Not tonight.”

Relief flooding through him Spike smiled back, before slowly shaking his head. Christ they were pathetic sometimes... What next? A bunch of flowers with a card saying ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening’? 

“Shower?” he asked and Angel nodded, before walking over to the door and reciting a short incantation lifting the barrier that had kept everyone in. He reached out to open the door and then stopped, slowly holding up his hand and studying it.

“I just... I just wish there wasn’t always blood on my hands,” he said quietly.

Silently Spike walked up to him, took his hand and carefully licked it.

Looking up, eyebrow raised, he caught Angel’s eyes. “Better now?”

Angel stared at him for a moment, then suddenly started to chuckle.

“You really are a sweet crazy little girl.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, incensed. “Fuck off!”

“As you wish,” Angel replied, and with a flourish opened the doors and stepped out of the room. 

With a growl Spike pounced after him... and the doors closed behind them, leaving only the silence of the dead.


End file.
